June Is Bustin' Out Sherlolly!
by Bellarsam Chrisjulittle
Summary: A Sherlolly drabble for each day of June prompted by a sentence from the 150 Sentence OTP Prompt list on Tumblr. Here there be fluff, romance, steam, and should there be any angst it always gets resolved. Please enjoy, read and review!
1. June 1

" _How long have you been standing there?"_

Sherlock was pulled away from thoroughly admiring Molly's naked legs peeking out from his rumpled bedsheets by the sound of a voice that managed to be both rough from sleep and as sweet as honey. Looking at her face, he saw that her brown eyes were half open and she was smiling sleepily.

Her pink cheeks were probably caused by the fact that he wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing. Usually, he only bothered with a bedsheet in the morning, but doing so _this_ wonderful morning would have meant waking Molly before he could surprise her with coffee just the way she liked it: milk and three sugars.

In response, Sherlock grinned and shrugged. "That's irrelevant."

Molly chuckled and then hid a yawn behind her hand. "Well, the lovely smell of the coffee you made woke me up. So, you had better not have been standing there long enough for it to have gone cold."

"I wouldn't dare!"

Sherlock gladly walked back to his bed and carefully climbed back on while handing one of the mugs he was holding to Molly. She took it and sat herself up, keeping her chest covered by the bed sheet with her free hand.

Sherlock noticed and, with his own free hand, lowered hers and the bedsheet while keeping eye contact with her. "There's no need of that, Molly," he said softly.

Molly's cheeks went from pink to red, but she left the sheet down as she sipped her coffee. Then she said, "There's so much to get used to…well, not that phrase, just…"

Sherlock understood what she meant; there were a lot of doubts and insecurities that he had planted in Molly's mind over the years, however inadvertently. And he was determined to pluck each of them out permanently.

Instead of words, he caressed her neck and kissed the corner of her mouth. "Last night was long overdue, and I hope that it was the first in the rest of long lives together."

Molly gave him a smile that melted away her shyness, and because she too could understand his intent without words, gave him a proper kiss in gratitude. They then enjoyed their morning coffee before having a _very_ fun first "morning after" together indeed!


	2. June 2

" _You're not as quiet as you think you are."_

Molly, her head feeling like it was full of heated concrete, slowly lifted her head from the toilet bowl and looked at Sherlock. He stood leaning against the now-open bathroom door; his stance said 'unconcerned' but his eyes said 'worried.'

She groaned and turned her head away. The poor woman had _never_ wanted Sherlock to see her like this; he'd seen her in enough ugly and embarrassing situations (the Phone Call was the prime example of that). Well, now she could add 'sick as a dog' to her list. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

"I woke up the moment you left the bed an hour before you usually do when you have to work," said Sherlock, walking into the room and kneeling down beside her. "Once I heard you, I called Stamford and informed him that you wouldn't be able to come in today."

Under any other circumstances, Molly would either insist that she was perfectly fine or scold him for cancelling her shift on her behalf. But she only sighed and said a feeble, "Thank you." Then, her traitorous stomach chose to do a combination cartwheel & backflip, and her face was once again in the toilet bowl as she heaved.

Sherlock held her hair and rubbed her back. "Just let it out, Molly. You know that I've seen much worse."

When she lifted her head back up, her cheeks were wet with tears over the whole icky situation. Sherlock immediately grabbed some wads of toilet paper, and wiped her cheeks and mouth. After that, he felt her forehead and his eyes widened. "You're burning up."

Molly sighed, the circles under her eyes quite pronounced. "That tends to happen with the flu. It's being making its way through the staff."

"Do you feel alright enough to go back to bed, or do you think you'll regurgitate again?"

Molly had to chuckle at that word. She thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Bed sounds lovely…but I wouldn't say no to the waste-bucket being close at hand."

Sherlock nodded, and gently helped her up to get her into bed. "Once you're settled, I'm calling John."

"Oh, don't, Sherlock," Molly weakly protested as she gingerly climbed into bed (she feared that any sudden movement may cause her stomach to start their gymnastics routine again). "I already know that this is the flu, and I don't want him catching this and passing it on to Rosie."

Sherlock nodded as he tucked her in. "Well, I'm going to call him anyway, so that he can tell me everything I need to be doing in helping you get better." He kissed her flaming cheek. "I'll just be a few minutes."

Molly had to smile to herself as Sherlock left the room. Leaving aside the fact that she didn't have the strength to put up a fight, she didn't want to. After so many years of taking care of Sherlock whenever he needed it because she loved him, she couldn't deny that to be taken care of by him now because he loved her back…well, she certainly wasn't going to stop it!

* * *

 **A/N:** _This little drabble was inspired by the fact that I was in Molly's situation yesterday morning (unfortunately without Sherlock there to be a sweetheart). Ugh, being sick is a bitch, and my stomach can go to hell right now. See you tomorrow!_


	3. June 3

At the end of a quite normal working day, Molly Hooper walked up the steps to 221B after saying hello to the lovely landlady. Upon opening the door with her key, she saw that Sherlock was sprawled on the sofa in his 'Mind Palace pose': lying flat on his back, eyes closed, palms pressed together in a prayer pose resting right beneath his chin. Smiling to herself, Molly passed by him without a word. Molly knew her consulting detective well; she knew that he was working on a tricky case right now, and she knew that he wouldn't appreciate an interruption to his train of thought.

So, Molly unwound from her work day in the usual method: a soak in the tub, changing into her comfy clothes, and making herself dinner. She hoped the smell of food might tempt Sherlock, but he didn't move a muscle. She saved the leftovers for him and then cleaned up her dishes.

Before she went into the bedroom to settle with a good book, Molly decided to just get a closer look at him to make sure all was well. Stepping close to the sofa, Molly noticed a crease between his brows and a frown upon his lips. On top of that, she noticed his left foot very slightly tapping against the armrest. The signs were clear: Sherlock was having trouble with the puzzle laid before him in his mind.

Molly bit her lip and deliberated what to do for a moment. Finally, Molly decided that, in this situation, her interfering may help him.

So, she bent at the waist and alerted him to her presence by kissing the crease between his brows. His eyes flitted opened and he looked at her.

Molly motioned to the sofa. _"Mind if I join you?"_ she asked with a gentle smile.

Sherlock said nothing, but he sat up without hesitation. Relieved not to be rebuffed, Molly knew what to do by this action. She sat down where his head had been, and he lowered himself to lie flat again, so that this time his head rested on her lap. Her fingers ran through his curls soothingly, and caressed his face lovingly.

A peaceful silence filled 221B, broken only by their steady breathing. Molly laid her head back against the sofa cushions and rested her eyes, her fingers never ceasing their ministrations.

After a while, Sherlock's eyes flew open and his body became alert. Molly looked down to see him grinning ear to ear. "Of course!" he breathed, and then practically leaped off the sofa. He grabbed his coat and put it on in one frantic fluid motion; the same went for his scarf after that.

But before he left the flat, Sherlock went back to Molly and took her face in his hands. "You never let me down, my Molly," he murmured before giving her a brief but _very_ passionate kiss.

After he was gone, Molly practically danced into the bedroom, hoping that she would still be awake when he came back so she could give him a proper (and naughty) 'welcome home.'

* * *

 **A/N:** _The sentence which prompted the story will always appear in italics._


	4. June 4

Molly Hooper moved into 221B over a period of time, bit by bit as she became more secure in their romantic relationship. As the weeks passed, more and more of her things made their way from her own flat to 221B, her possessions coming to fit quite nicely with Sherlock's wide menagerie of oddities. Any form of logic dictated that they wouldn't fit together, but somehow, they did – like the couple themselves.

Finally, to Sherlock's immense joy and relief, there came the day when the last of Molly's things were being moved out of her flat. Her furniture would be donated, and movers would come to collect all of it that evening. This afternoon, both Sherlock and Molly were putting the last of her things into a few boxes.

As Sherlock was clearing out the bottom drawer of her wardrobe, he paused. " _That's my shirt… So is that…wait!_ " he said to himself.

Molly heard him, and she froze.

He straightened up and turned to Molly, holding a shirt of his in each hand. One was a grey t-shirt, and the other was a white button-up. His expression held surprise and a need for an explanation; thankfully, there was no anger.

Molly immediately said, "I didn't steal them! I promise. Those are just…well, you remember you'd stayed at my flat for a few days after the Fall? How you took over my bedroom? After you'd left, I found those almost under the bed; you had forgotten them. For the first few months, I…well, I'd sleep in them sometimes. I'd no idea where you were, if you were alright or not, and Mycroft didn't deem it safe to tell me anything yet. So…it was the only comfort I had. Then, after about six months, I was told that you were still alive, and soon after I met Tom. So, I stuffed the shirts in my least used wardrobe drawer, telling myself that I had to stop pining for something that wasn't mine and would…never be mine…at least, I thought that at the time…" She lowered her eyes guiltily, and returned to the task of packing up the last of her books.

Sherlock listened to her explanation without interruption, his heart getting fuller with each word that he heard. He walked to her, removed the books from her hands, and took her face in his hands so that she would meet his gaze. "I'm glad that I left you with _some_ thing, even if it wasn't intentional…I'm sorry that it wasn't more…"

Molly blinked. Then, she rose on her tiptoes, and kissed him firmly on the lips. "All that matters now is that, after today, my home is with you."

It was now Sherlock's turn to blink. Then he touched his forehead to hers and said, "Yes, and it always will be, Molly. I promise you."

Molly smiled and gave him another kiss. She had intended for it to be a brief one so that they could get back to work, but Sherlock had other ideas. Soon, he had her beneath him on the bare mattress of her old bed and over half of their clothing had been removed.

"Sherlock!" she giggled as his mouth nibbled her neck. "The movers are coming soon!"

"In over three hours, Molly," replied Sherlock, looking up at Molly with pure mischief. "Plenty of time to give this place a proper and memorable farewell."

Molly made no more objections after that – and they managed to clear out just minutes before the movers arrived.


	5. June 5

Molly woke from her sleep with a little gasp. Gulping down some air, Molly sat up, conscious of the person still fast asleep beside her. She hadn't had a nightmare, exactly. It was just one of those dreams that didn't let you sleep as deeply as you wanted to. The kind of dreams that your past pains and present insecurities fueled without mercy.

Though they were happening less and less frequently now, Molly knew that it might be a long time before they stopped altogether. Given her history with the man she loved, Molly knew better than to expect her emotional scars to just disappear after Sherlock proved to her that her feelings were indeed mutual. But, bottom line, Molly thought these dreams a small price to pay for her deepest, dearest dream finally coming true.

So, after she took some deep breaths, Molly turned to look at Sherlock. He was fast asleep, his naked chest exposed to the moonlight pouring in, and so beautiful that it took her breath away. As she looked at him, she drove out the lingering images from her dream – which, thankfully, never stay with us for long unless we put real effort to do so. Instead, she filled her mind with more recent – and _real_ – memories:

Sherlock lifting her off her feet and spinning her joyously around the lab when she had discovered something in the latest murder victim's blood that someone else might easily have overlooked.

Sherlock waiting in the bathroom when she came home after a long shift, a hot bath all ready for her and him more than ready to help her enjoy it.

Sherlock being absolutely adorable as he tried to do everything in his power _not_ to piss her off during her time of the month.

Sherlock looking at her with complete arousal, rapture, and vulnerability beneath her as they made love.

Sherlock simply caressing her wrist and kissing her hair as she passed him in the sitting room on her way to work.

Sherlock murmuring 'I love you' against her lips as she held him to her on the sofa after he'd come home from seeing his family.

Feeling completely at peace now, Molly laid herself back down and tucked herself against his side. Her bare skin pressed to his bare skin, she gently laid her mouth on the place where his heartbeat was the strongest. And in the softest, sincerest voice, Molly murmured:

" _After everything…I'd still choose you._ "

Sherlock didn't wake up, but as she laid her head on his chest and close her eyes, his arms reflexively wrapped around her. After all, he needed her as much as she needed him.


	6. June 6

London was in the middle of a heat wave that evening. Sherlock Holmes returned to Baker Street after solving a case, and he was _hungry._ And not for any kind of food either.

It was too hot to wear his coat, so he ripped off his blazer and tossed it he-didn't-know-where as he bee lined for the bedroom. When he'd texted Molly to let her know that he was on his way home, her reply that been the best kind of reply:

 _I'm waiting. ;)_

He found the bedroom door nearly closed, with little light coming through the cracks. Heart pounding and blood boiling, Sherlock slowly opened the door. Once he saw Molly lying atop the bedsheets, his cock began to harden and a predatory smile appeared on his face.

"Molly Hooper," he growled as he removed his shirt and trousers. " _Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?_ "

At first, Molly said nothing; she just watched him stripped down to his skin with the same hunger he felt. Finally, in response, Molly gave him a truly saucy smirk and equally saucy reply:

"You're the genius detective, Sherlock Holmes. Figure it out."

In an instant, Sherlock had crawled onto the bed like a dragon and his face disappeared between her legs. "So, you think you can get away with being naughty, do you?"

His hot breath tingled her most sensitive and damp place, and she threw her head back against the pillows with a deep moan. "Oh, not for one moment…please teach me a lesson…"

She heard him chuckle darkly before his mouth did something that made conscious thought truly impossible…

* * *

Later – _much_ later – the couple had no trouble falling asleep while the heat wave still ran through the crowded city. After all, that heat was _nothing_ compared to the fire they had just come through together. If dragon fire had ever existed, only that could have compared.

* * *

 **A/N:** _Don't deny it, ladies – we've all had some hot fantasies of that deep voice getting us wetter than Niagara. I'd have made it longer, but alas, this is a story of drabbles. But I'm sure your naughty imaginations can come up with something to fill in the gaps. ;)_


	7. June 7

"Sherlock!" Molly called from the bathroom.

"What, Molly?" replied Sherlock, sitting in his chair and absorbed in an e-mail he was composing on his phone.

" _Have you seen my contacts?_ "

"No- _pe_ ," he instantly replied, not pausing or looking up from what he was doing. When he had finished and sent the e-mail (a reply to a standard case that had appeared in his inbox), Sherlock looked up to find a bespectacled Molly standing over him, hands on her hips and an exasperated grin on her face.

"Sherlock, I can tell when you fib even when I can't see you."

Knowing that this would be an argument he couldn't win, Sherlock instead responded with a whine. "Why do you need them, Molly? You don't work today."

She sighed. "Mike just texted me. There was a bus crash in mid-town, and all hands are being called."

Sherlock groaned and slouched in his chair, a full-blown pout growing. He _hated_ it when Molly was called into work when she was scheduled to be off. If this was how Molly felt when a case called him away while they were together, then he would definitely double his efforts into making their reunions all the sweeter.

He was pulled out of his pout when Molly climbed onto his chair and straddled his lap. The sight of her melted his heart. He did so love it when she wore her glasses (which she did on her days off); she just looked so…he was normally loathe to use words like 'adorable,' but it was the only word that could describe Molly at times like this.

With one hand, she cupped his cheek, and the other she held out palm up. "Come on, Sherlock. You know that glasses and microscopes are not good things to push together."

Sighing, Sherlock reached into his trouser pocket and pulled them out. He didn't always carry them around on her days off, but he saw it as a little insurance policy towards her looking especially 'adorable' for as long as she could.

Smiling, Molly took them and gave him a soft kiss. She managed to get off his lap before he could keep her there (unfortunately), but he didn't follow her. Yes, it was unfortunate that she had to work on her day off, but she would come here – _home to him_ – when she was done. And he would be waiting for her.


	8. June 8

Life can sometimes be very under-handed. Just when everything is as it should be, something will come out of the blue and shatter that feeling in a moment.

This was the jist of Sherlock's thought process one autumn evening. His mind went back to earlier in the day…

* * *

 _That morning, he and John had been in the St. Bart's lab with Molly, working on their latest case. Suddenly, the busy yet peaceful silence was broken by the worst sound: a groan of arousal coming from Sherlock's trouser pocket._

 _Sherlock froze like a statue, John grimaced something awful, and Molly dropped the (thankfully empty) test tube that she'd been holding in shock. In the next moment, both men turned to look at her fearfully. Molly kept her eyes on the broken glass at her feet, and let out a very sad sigh._

 _"I should have known you wouldn't let her die…" she murmured. She wiped her eyes quickly and then said, "I'll clean that up."_

 _The sadness that radiated off her made his heart twist terribly. "Molly –"_

 _But she stopped him with a look, and he saw the anger in her eyes within the sadness. "You have a case to solve. We'll talk about this when it's over and we're home."_

 _With that, she'd left to get a broom and dust bin, and was all business when she came back…_

* * *

Now, the case was solved and he was home. Sherlock now stood in the bedroom doorway. Molly was curled up beneath the covers, her back to the door and her breathing even. But he knew that she wasn't sleeping. After stripping down to his pants (his usual sleep attire), he gently climbed into bed beside her and gingerly spooned her. Though she didn't push him away, she was stiff and tense.

"I swear to you," he murmured. "I haven't seen her since I prevented her death six years ago. It was a foolish thing to do, I know, but my actions had literally sent her to her death and I wanted to correct that. Even John didn't know I did until my last birthday, and Mycroft still isn't –"

"Sherlock," she interrupted him, giving a shuddering breath and not relaxing or turning in his hold quite yet. "I understand why you saved her; I'm not angry about that. It's that you didn't tell me by now. That I had to find out by hearing… _that_ …again."

Sherlock shut his eyes. Considering the circumstances of the last time she had heard that sound, and the memories it must have brought back to her, he couldn't blame her. "I'm sorry, Molly. I truly am. I should have told you. The only thing I can say is that…well, she honestly hasn't crossed my mind since my birthday. So much happened after that, what with my sister and you…why on earth would I think of her now?"

Finally, Molly's limbs relaxed, and she turned in his arms so that she could look at him. "Really?" she asked so softly, so timidly.

He could see she had shed some tears, and he caressed her cheek, his heart twisting again at the old insecurity which that awful text sound had risen in her.

" _Do you really think I could ever replace you?_ "

She blinked, and gave him a little smile. "I suppose not."

" _Never_ ," Sherlock firmly corrected her. "So please don't fear that, because I saved her, I'll leave you and go after her. She only ever texts me once or twice a year; I replied sometimes in the past, but I never will again. And I'll delete that sound from my phone so that you'll never have to hear it again."

He meant every word of it. Irene Adler may have been The Woman in his case history, but Molly was The One in his mind, heart and soul, and that would never change for as long as they lived.

And Molly, because she could _see_ him, believed him. She gave a bigger smile, caressed his wrist and said, "I trust you. And I love you."

 _And thank God for that,_ thought Sherlock before he proceeded to make Molly feel absolutely cherished and adored for the rest of the night and the morning after too...

* * *

 **A/N:** _Please let me know if I'm not the only one who wanted to smash something during "The Lying Detective" when Sherlock's phone made that sound._


	9. June 9

Singing in the shower was a fairly common habit amongst mankind, and Molly was no exception to that. It was the very early morning, Sherlock was somewhere in the east end on his latest case, and Molly had just gotten home from doing the graveyard shift in the morgue.

As she washed away the remains of her night in the morgue, she softly sang one of her father's favorite songs, a classic Johnny Mercer piece from the forties. Appropriate, seeing as how today was the anniversary of her father's death.

She still hummed it as she shut off and grabbed the towel that she had laid out for herself. Since her hair was held up securely in a clip, it wouldn't take long to dry herself off. It was as she finished drying her freshly-shaved legs that she heard music. It sounded like it was coming from the sitting room.

Even before she recognized the music, her heart warmed. Sherlock was home…she wanted him home today.

Then she recognized the music…and her heart overflowed while her eyes very nearly did. She fastened the towel around her body and left the bathroom. As she walked down the hall and into the sitting room, she let the beautiful sound of Nat King Cole's perfect voice wash over her.

Sure enough, there stood Sherlock, which was lit by candles placed around the room. He wore his burgundy dressing gown, and he was smiling softly at her. She approached him, and once she was close enough, he took her hands and positioned themselves in dancing form.

"Sherlock, _I just got out of the shower, I can't dance_ ," Molly chuckled quietly. " _What if my towel falls off?_ "

Her lover considered the point with his usual flair for the dramatic. "Good point, Molly," he finally replied. He then walked to the windows and drew the curtains, making the golden candlelight glow even brighter. After he took off his dressing gown and draped it over his chair – revealing himself to be naked – he walked back to her. "Then let's not worry about it."

She only smiled as he removed her towel, tossing it towards his chair so it rested atop his dressing gown. After giving her a very appreciative once-over, Sherlock gently removed the hair clip and tossed it too, letting her hair fall down her bare back. Then, he gathered her into his arms, and they danced, skin-to-skin and cheek-to-cheek, through the song he had remembered she'd told him was her father's favorite.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, her voice cracking.

He held her more tightly and kissed her temple in reply.

She then closed her eyes and let herself melt against the man she loved as they danced.

* * *

After the song was over, Sherlock and Molly walked to the bedroom. They both crawled into bed and into each other's arms, but they only exchanged a few kisses before they fell asleep. Both were tired after a long night of work, Molly in the morgue and Sherlock on a case. Besides, being naked together for them was sometimes about comfort rather than sex. And Molly wanted comfort this day of days, comfort which Sherlock was now more than happy to provide. As Molly drifted to sleep, warm in the circle of his arms, she thought:

 _I'll always miss you, Daddy, but you don't need to worry anymore. We finally have each other. I love you._

Her dreams were filled with happy memories, both old and new.

* * *

 **A/N:** _First of all, thank you so much for your responses to the last drabble! Glad to know that I wasn't alone._

 _Now, all of you PLEASE listen to Nat King Cole's cover of "I Remember You." It is absolutely_ beautiful _._


	10. June 10

Sherlock came out of his Mind Palace with a grin on his face. He jumped off of the sofa and walked to his wall, which had become an evidence board. As he rearranged some photos and notes, he heard Molly walk out of the bedroom and down the hall. Her stride was a little more careful than it usually was, and Sherlock could tell by the footsteps that she was wearing heels.

"Well, I'm off," she said to his back as she walked to the door. "I won't be too late."

He knew why she didn't approach him to give him a customary embrace good-bye; she never invaded his personal space while he was working on a case unless he initiated it. Since he wasn't in his Mind Palace anymore, Sherlock turned to face Molly.

Once he saw her, his breath stole from his throat. This made sense, because Molly looked… _breath-taking._ She wore a dark purple cocktail dress that flattered her petite figure perfectly. Her long hair was loosely curled, side-parted and fell down her back. She wore just the right amount of make-up on her face, and her heels were low enough to be relatively comfortable.

Unfortunately, his mouth spoke before his mind. " _You're going out dressed like that?_ " He immediately winced, hating how his tone sounded. "I didn't mean it like that, Molly, I just…you hardly ever dress like that and…you look so…"

Molly managed to give him a smile that was both saucy and shy. "I hope you mean that in a good way."

"Absolutely!" Sherlock eagerly replied, and Molly giggled. Her reaction relaxed him so much that he wasn't even embarrassed.

"Well, Helen said that she made reservations for the four of us at _Chez Ciel_ , which is quite a posh restaurant. She's just had her second baby, and I think she's more than eager to hit the town. Bernadette sent me a magazine clipping of this dress, knowing I would love it. And Minnie will be here any second to pick me up." She gave an excited little smile. "It's quite nice to have the opportunity to both see old friends _and_ dress up."

Sherlock smiled at her. He knew that Molly had been looking forward to this little reunion with her three closest friends from university. They'd all gone separate ways to separate lives, but once in a while, they would be able to get together, relive old times and catch up on their lives. Sherlock also knew of another reason that she was so excited to see her old friends again: she could now share with them how happy she now was with her life, both professional and romantic.

He walked to her and kissed her forehead. "Have a wonderful time. And remember that I'll be waiting up for you so that I can have the exquisite pleasure of taking that lovely dress off you."

Her cheeks flushed and she gave his bum a playful pinch. She fled the flat in a fit of giggles before he could retaliate. No matter – he would get her back later.

He watched from the window as her friend, Minnie, drove up and Molly got in the car. She waved up at him before they drove away. Happy that Molly was happy, Sherlock turned back to his evidence board with renewed determination. Best get this resolved and send the results off to Lestrade before Molly came home. No outside distractions would be acceptable after she came home…


	11. June 11

One afternoon, while the Watsons were visiting them at 221B, Molly quickly ran to the shops to pick up a few things for supper and for Rosie. It wasn't much, thankfully, so she was able to walk there and return with one shopping bag.

When she returned, Molly found Rosie with Mrs. Hudson in 221A. "Oh, thank you, dear!" said Mrs. Hudson, taking the bag from Molly since she was cooking the supper tonight. "The boys are upstairs. I think they may have a new case, since they brought Rosie down here."

"Oh," said Molly. "I'll just pop up and see if I can help."

After giving Rosie a kiss, Molly left 221A and walked up the stairs to 221B. As she opened the door, Molly heard the tail-end of quite an intense conversation between the boys:

"Sherlock, you're over-thinking this –"

"John, if I were over-thinking this, I would have thought of the perfect way by now!"

"Look, mate, I get it. I've been there before. The more you work yourself up about this, the harder you'll make it for yourself. And I'm sure that, for Molly, you just asking her clearly and sincerely will be more than enough. Getting down on one knee would be a terrific bonus, by the way."

"But that can't _possibly_ be enough?! Nothing simple or subtle could possibly be enough, especially for Molly, who deserves the world and more. I don't deserve even a fraction of what she has given me, and it would be the greatest honor of my life if Molly were to agree to be my wife, to take my name, have my babies, spend the rest of her life by my side…"

Sherlock stopped talking then because, in his frantic pacing, he had finally spotted Molly standing in the now open doorway. His body and his voice stopped, leaving him looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

Molly, whose heart was now beating at the rate of a speeding train, could only say softly, " _That wasn't very subtle._ "

John, satisfied that Sherlock's dilemma was solved, smiled. He patted Sherlock's shoulder and squeezed Molly's hand before leaving the room.

Now left alone, Molly managed to give Sherlock a tremulous but reassuring smile. "If you're really sure, Sherlock, just ask me. I don't need anything more than that."

Sherlock listened, gulped, walked up to her, and got down on his right knee while taking her hands. "Molly…will you marry me? Please?"

Smiling like the sun, Molly replied without hesitation: "Of course!"

She wasted no time in kneeling down at his level and embracing him with a kiss.


	12. June 12

It wasn't long after they had become engaged that Molly realized just how much went into a wedding. While she hadn't a shadow of a doubt about marrying Sherlock, the wedding itself had her mind torn in two.

One half wanted her and Sherlock to just go to a registrar's office the next afternoon that they were both free, with just a few witnesses and maybe a nice meal afterwards. No fuss and feathers, as they say.

The other half did want a wedding ceremony. Not an extravagant one, of course; her tastes weren't extravagant and neither were Sherlock's. But she did want _something_ which would gather all of their loved ones together, give her the chance to wear a beautiful white dress, and be able to recite those vows to the world of loving, honoring and cherishing the man she loved.

Such was her dilemma, and she talked about it with Sherlock one lazy Sunday evening. Both were curled up on the sofa, legs tangled and arms around each other.

"We shall have to try for something in between," Sherlock said, after contemplating all that Molly told him she was thinking.

"I agree," said Molly, sighing. "But even something small, there are still so many elements that go into it. Location, time, the ceremony, the clothing, flowers, invitations –"

" _I'll take care of it_."

Molly turned her head to look up at him, an eyebrow raised. "Really? You would really want to do that?"

"Yes," said Sherlock without hesitation. "Remember all of the work that I put into the Watsons' wedding?"

Molly chuckled. "Yes, I do. And as lovely as that wedding was, I'd like to have something quite a bit smaller and, even if you disagree, crime-free."

Sherlock smiled and kissed her nose. "Have no fear, Molly. I know your tastes, and I'd have no appetite for making our wedding more about entertaining guests than about our marriage." He smiled again. "Our marriage…such a lovely thought…"

Molly kissed his lips twice. "Yes, it is. Just run everything by me first; this is about the both of us, after all."

"Of course."

"And I'll take care of the dress. I know that your mother will want to help me do that, and I'd gladly take the help."

"Understood. So, the first thing to decide…could it be sooner rather than later?"

Molly made her answer clear by kissing him again.


	13. June 13

"Are you alright in there, Molly?" called Rowena Holmes from the other side of the white curtain. She, Mrs. Hudson and Rosie had joined Molly for a girl's day out, with a mission to find her wedding dress.

"Yes," Molly replied in a calm voice that only barely covered her excitement. "I'm coming out…and I think this is the one."

"Ooooh, did you hear that, Rosie?" said Mrs. Hudson, bouncing the one-year-old on her knee. The little blonde giggled.

"One…two…three." With that, Molly drew back the curtain and walked from the dressing alcove to the lounge in the bridal shop. Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Hudson both smiled and gasped in delight, for Molly was right: this dress _was_ the one! It was inspired by the dress worn by Jackie Kennedy when she married JFK, but with a sleekness reminiscent of the current century.

"What do you think?" said Molly, who was positively glowing.

Mrs. Holmes, who had tears in her eyes, got up and walked to her future daughter-in-law. Taking her hands, she said, "It's perfect, my dear girl!"

Mrs. Hudson was nodding in agreement when her mobile beeped from her bag. With her free hand, she pulled it out and read the incoming text. "It's from John!" Her smile melted off her face as she read it. "Oh, dear…" she murmured. She then looked at the bride-to-be. "You may want to give Sherlock a call."

Both Molly and Mrs. Holmes gave exasperated sighs. Mrs. Holmes then fetched Molly's mobile from her jacket pocket and handed it to her. The fact that Sherlock waited until five rings later to answer didn't bode well. The fact that he answered with an over bright "Hello, Molly!" boded even worse.

"Do I want to know what's going on?" Molly asked in a tone that clearly said ' _Don't bullshit me_.'

There was a long silence before Sherlock responded in a small voice. " _I promise everything will be cleaned up when you come back_."

"I'll hold you to that. We should be back by eight o'clock, so now you have no excuse not to keep that promise."

" _I'm sorry, Molly_."

Molly sighed. " _Don't apologize if you don't mean it._ I know you must have had a reason to make the flat a mess, probably for a case, am I right?"

" _Yes, I promise, it was all for a good cause_!"

"Well, you can tell me all about it tonight. For now, I am going to enjoy my day out with the ladies and look forward to ending it by coming come to a _spotless_ flat. Okay, love?"

" _Yes, dearest. See you at eight._ "

Molly hung up to find Mrs. Holmes staring at her proudly and fondly.

"Oh, thank Christ he found you, darling!"


	14. June 14

Molly prepared the supper that night with a little more noise than she usually did. From that, Sherlock made a rather obvious deduction: " _You're still mad?_ "

His tone was casual to most ears, but she could hear the worry that lay beneath. She'd told him about her lunch hour in the canteen, and how she'd overheard some of the nursing staff gossiping about her and Sherlock in quite an ugly way.

Molly sighed, shut the oven door with some force, and rubbed her face. "I just…I wish that people could think of better things to talk about…"

Sherlock went to her, removed her hand from her face, and gently rubbed her temples with his thumbs. She moaned appreciatively at the gesture. "They either have nothing better to do with their little minds, or they talk of others so that they won't see the problems in their own lives."

Molly sighed and rested her on his chest. "I know, I know…I'll be fine once I've eaten something…it's been a long day…"

"I can imagine," said Sherlock, embracing her securely. "Three autopsies on top of inane gossip sound quite straining indeed. And once you have eaten supper, I am determined to take you to bed and permanently erase the memory of your work day."

The petite brunette lifted her head. Sherlock smiled to see the sparkle return to her eyes. "Oh? Care to elaborate, Mr. Holmes?"

"Patience, soon-to-be Mrs. Holmes," Sherlock purred, leading her to the table. "We must eat first, as you so love to remind me to do between cases. Now we both have something to look forward to."

Molly left it at that, but she gave him such a smile of love and gratitude that Sherlock couldn't resist kissing her before finishing the supper for them both.

* * *

The next morning, Sherlock made a discreet call to Mycroft to have a few members of the St. Bart's nursing staff knocked down a few pegs on the career ladder. If it were up to him, they'd be gone, but he knew that Molly wouldn't approve of that. Still, they had to be taught a lesson, even if they didn't know it. No one got away with upsetting his Molly anymore.


	15. June 15

Molly woke in the dark hours of the early morning to the feeling of her fiancé giving her neck soft kisses. His hands, too, were rubbing her waist and back. At first, she smiled and kept her eyes closed, enjoying his attentions even at this unholy hour. But then she had opened her eyes, turned in his embrace, and got a look at his face in the moonlight.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

Caught off guard by her question, Sherlock blinked down at her. "What do you mean?"

She caressed his cheek. " _You didn't just wake me up at 2AM because you were 'in the mood'_ ," said Molly. She then remembered that they would be getting married in less than forty-eight hours, and a terrible possibility entered her mind. "Are you…having doubts?"

She could see him better now that her eyes were adjusting to the minimal light, so she could clearly see how taken aback he was by what she asked. "No! Molly, of course not! Please don't think that! I've never doubted I wanted to marry you from the moment I realized that I truly did want that."

His gaze and tone were so vehement and sincere that Molly immediately believed him and relaxed, her worst fear demolished. "Then what is it?" she gently prodded, bringing up her other hand so that she caressed both cheeks.

Sherlock cleared his throat, and lowered his head so that their foreheads touched. "Nothing important, I just…had an unsettling dream and…needed to put it from my mind…"

Molly ran a hand through his dark curls, voluminous from bed-head. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," said Sherlock softly. "The sooner I forget about it, the better. But…Molly…you would tell me if…if you were having doubts, wouldn't you?"

Just like that, Molly realized what his dream must have been about, and her heart broke for him. Gently, she pushed against his shoulders until he laid back on the bed. She straddled him, and cupped his face in her hands again. Looking deeply into his eyes, which seemed almost silver in the moonlight, she said in a rich and firm voice:

"Sherlock, I'm going to tell you something that I never, ever want you to forget, especially after we become husband and wife: _You have me, all of me, and you always will._ "

Then she kissed him with every fiber of her being. Sherlock released a relieved sob into her mouth, and she kissed him again, determined to drive away his fruitless fears. He kissed her back with equal desperation, and soon, neither knew where one ended and the other began.


	16. June 16

Not only did Sherlock organize the wedding, he also organized a week-long honeymoon for the two of them. This surprised Molly, who hadn't thought that Sherlock could last so long without a case or an experiment. When she'd told him this after finding out about the honeymoon, he'd smirked and said, "Molly, you are more than enough to keep me occupied for a week."

They didn't go very far; they didn't need to, since all they needed was each other. They occupied a small, rented and picturesque cottage on the Dorset coast. Only occasionally did they wander outside to enjoy the sun and sea. All throughout that week, Sherlock and Molly experienced a happiness that neither had thought possible before. And both were determined to keep a piece of that happiness for the rest of their lives together.

On the day that they were to return to London, Sherlock surprised Molly by stopping in a small village on the coast of West Sussex. All he would say at first was that he wanted to show Molly their wedding gift from Mycroft. He brought the car that they had rented to a stop in front of a simple but lovely two-story house with a spacious yard in between it and the sea.

"What is this, Sherlock?" asked Molly. Then she realized something. "My God…Mycroft is giving us a _house_?"

Sherlock gave a small, sad smile that was more to himself than to her. "He told me two days before the wedding. I tried every way of telling him that it was too much, but he wouldn't hear of it. He still blames himself for a great deal, I think…so I finally accepted. He knows me well, nearly as well as you. There are half a dozen old beehives behind the house; he knows I want to pursue that when I've retired from detective work. And that will happen sooner rather than later when…if… _when_ we start a family. There's enough room for one of our own. It's been unoccupied for ten years, so there are quite a few things to repair and modernize. But there is plenty of time for that; it will be here waiting for us when we are ready to make our lives here. Do you like it?"

Looking at Molly, Sherlock immediately worried that both he and Mycroft may have gotten it wrong that Molly would want this too. But Sherlock had been sure that she would! Several times during their engagement, they had talked about what they would do should they be blessed with children and when they would not need London so much anymore. She looked like she may start hyperventilating, and her eyes were bright with tears.

"Molly! _Am I scaring you_? Is it too soon to think about this? Is this not what you –"

"What is Mycroft's favorite cake?" asked Molly, interrupting him.

Sherlock blinked, completely surprised by this question. "Um…German chocolate."

Molly nodded. "I've got that recipe. When we get home, I am going to make him a big one in gratitude."

Under practically any other circumstances, Sherlock would have given a wicked grin and begged to be the one to deliver it to him. But this time, overjoyed that Molly was happy about this, Sherlock smiled tenderly and kissed his new wife.


	17. June 17

That night, it was Sherlock's turn to do the dishes after supper. Molly retreated to the sofa to read a book. Once Sherlock was done, he grabbed his mobile and walked into the sitting room. He joined her on the sofa, sitting on the opposite end so that their feet met in the middle.

But once their feet touched, Molly flinched and tucked her feet further in. "Quit touching me. Your feet are cold." She didn't look up from her book as she spoke.

A little peeved, to say the least, Sherlock responded peevishly: "Yes, ma'am."

He opened his emails on his mobile, but before he could open the first new one, Sherlock felt his wife's eyes on him. Looking up, he saw that she was giving him a sharp stare. "Are you being sassy, Mr. Holmes?"

The slight upturn of her lips gave her away. Smirking himself, he responded, "No, ma'am."

Molly, letting her smirk fully bloom, tossed her book to the floor. Leaning forward wickedly, she said, "Did you just lie to me, Mr. Holmes?"

His smirk becoming even more wicked, if that were at all possible, Sherlock put his mobile on the coffee table without breaking eye contact with her. "Yes, ma'am."

She crawled across the sofa until her hovered over his lap and her face hovered in front of his. "Are you under the impression that a serious infraction such as lying to the mistress of 221B Baker Street will go unpunished?"

Quick as a flash, Sherlock grabbed her waist and pulled her down until she straddled him. Molly's naughty smirk dissolved into joyous giggles. _What a lovely sound,_ thought Sherlock. "Oh, no, ma'am."

Biting her lips to stop her giggles, Molly leaned back, pulled off the grey t-shirt of his that she'd been wearing in one swoop, and tossed it no-one-cared-where. "That's _Mrs. Holmes_ to you."

His cock hard and throbbing by now, Sherlock crushed her to him and crushed his lips to hers. He certainly wasn't going to cross Mrs. Molly Holmes, mistress of his heart and home.

* * *

 **A/N:** _In a recent interview at the Hay Festival (you can find it on YouTube), Steven Moffat addressed the criticism that the lives of his female characters, both on Doctor Who and Sherlock, revolve around men:_

' _In both cases, their lives revolve around the central character of the show because, at the moment we meet them, that's where they are. You know, we can't say that we follow Molly Hooper onto her next adventure in which Sherlock Holmes doesn't appear –_ unless you want the spin-off, in which case, we'll do it _ **.**_ _'_

 _YES, YES, AND MORE YES! One condition, Moffat:_ Make the lovely Loo Brealey the head writer for it, and you and Gatiss must get everything you contribute approved by her _._

 _WHO'S WITH ME?!_


	18. June 18

Molly emerged from the bathroom, wearing burgundy dressing gown, and a little steam coming out with her. She'd just taken a very long and hot bath, which was her personal indulgence after a long or difficult day at the morgue. Sherlock looked up from his laptop just in time to see her give a huge (and adorable) yawn.

"Oh, I'm knackered!" she said through the yawn. "I'm going to bed right now. I know it's a bit early, but when you nod off in the tub, that's a sign you shouldn't ignore."

Sherlock sat up in his chair, alarmed. " _You fell asleep in the tub?!_ "

Molly waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry, it's not the first time that's happened. Not planning on drowning any ti –" Her words were cut off with another big yawn.

Calmer now, Sherlock got up from his chair and walked to Molly. Wrapping an arm around her, he walked her towards the bedroom. He certainly didn't mind that she leant against him as they walked. "Let's just make sure you can get to the bed in one piece, Mrs. Holmes."

"Mmm," Molly moaned, cuddling against him. "I love my name."

Sherlock smiled and kissed her head. "So do I."

One of the best things that he'd learned from living with Molly was that the sleepier she got, the more adorably dopey she got.

After he'd tucked her in, she fell asleep within seconds. Deciding that the warmth of the bedroom would be just as good as the sitting room, Sherlock climbed into bed beside her. Updating his site about the various types of gravel at London construction sites could wait until morning.


	19. June 19

By now, after years of experience and growing up, Sherlock knew that not all of his cases would end well, even if he solved it.

He came home from one such case looking as white as a sheet and trembling like a leaf. Molly took one look at him, and then went to him, embracing him tightly. She drew a hot shower for them both, and afterwards held him to her in their bed.

Eventually, he told her about his latest case that had ended both well and terribly. The killer had finally been caught, but he'd managed to murder Sherlock's client and his wife before they caught up to him.

"I gave him my word, Molly," he whispered brokenly. "That I would do all that was in my power to stop this murderer and save his family."

Molly ran her fingers through his curls soothingly, tears on her cheeks as well as on his after hearing the terrible story. "You didn't break your word, Sherlock," she reassured softly. "You _did_ do everything in your power. And the city is safer now that the man is captured."

Sherlock sighed. "Nevertheless, John will have a difficult time with his latest blog entry. He enjoys romanticizing my image and making me the hero of London. Even though I constantly remind him that I am not one."

"I think…" Molly contemplated, letting her lips rest against his brow. "John describes you how he sees you: his best mate. Though you can drive him up the wall at times, you're ultimately a good man with heroic qualities. Yes, you're not an angel, but fighting on the side of them is more than enough, especially in this day and age.

"And always remember this, Sherlock: _I don't need a hero. I need a husband._ And you more than fulfill that need every day."

Sherlock lifted his face to meet her eyes, and she saw a vulnerable expression on his face that only she was privileged to see. "Truly, Molly?"

"Truly, my love," said Molly, and kissed him between the eyes.

He let out a huge sigh of relief, and rested his face in the crook of her neck. Kissing the soft skin there, he murmured, "And you are the best of wives and women."

They soon fell asleep together – safe, content, and complete.


	20. June 20

To bring Sherlock Holmes out of his mind palace before he was finished inside it took quite a bit of effort. Even those closest to him had to use physical force to get his attention. Of course, he would come out of the mind palace under emergency circumstances, e.g. if he smelled smoke or gas. But usually, bringing Sherlock out of his mind palace against his will was equivalent to bringing a rock from the bottom of the ocean.

However, as she was to so many things in his life, Molly was an exception to this. Her presence he always remained alert of, even in the deepest recesses of his mind palace. If he happened to be in it and she arrived home, her scent or the sound of her footsteps would alert him. He would then usually peek at her before re-entering his mind palace, happy that she was home.

On this evening, however, Sherlock was alerted to Molly's arrival home from work by a distressing sound: Molly giving a groan of pain as she shut the door. His eyes snapped open, fully back to reality, and took in the sight of his wife from the sofa. She looked completely worn out, leaning against the door, and her face was a grimace of pain.

It took him a split second of studying her to deduce exactly what was paining her. He then leapt off the sofa and went to her. When he touched her, he was tender and gentle. "Molly, how many autopsies did you do today? And why did no one help you move the bodies on and off the slabs?"

Molly sighed and leant her forehead against Sherlock's chest. "Two fully-grown males. And the morgue assistant never showed up."

Sherlock made a note in his mind to find out who that was and make sure that they would be severely reprimanded. Then, he kissed Molly's head and gently led her to the bedroom. "Come on. _I'll give you a massage_. Then, I'll draw a hot bath for the both of us to enjoy."

Molly gave another groan, but this one was of grateful anticipation rather than pulled muscles. Once they were in the bedroom, she turned to her husband and cupped his face in her hands. "If you take care of me tonight, I promise I will make it up to you when I don't feel like I've been stretched in every direction like elastic."

Sherlock smiled, kissed her nose, and let down her ponytail before beginning to undress her. "I look forward to that, but don't think of it as making it up to me. This is more of a pleasure than a duty, Molly."

Molly smiled. "Good to know, husband."


	21. June 21

At the end of her shift, Molly stood at the sink in the morgue, scrubbing her hands and wrists. She was preoccupied with her task, and the water pouring from the faucet made quite a noise in the expansive room. So, she didn't see it coming at all.

Out of seemingly nowhere, Molly felt a pinching, ticklish sensation on both sides of her waist. The shock and sensation caused quite an immediate and comical reaction from the pathologist: she jumped over a foot in the air and let out a high-pitched shriek.

As she recovered her breath and shut off the sink (she'd managed to splash water on herself quite thoroughly since her hands had been under the faucet), a sound came to her ears. When she realized what it was, her shock was immediately replaced by embarrassment, exasperation and annoyance. Turning around, she saw what she expected to see:

Her husband was standing a safe distance from her, bent over in guffawing laughter.

In Sherlock's experience, Molly was one of those people who could be adorable in their anger. She was bloody terrifying when she was extremely angry about something that warranted anger, but when it came to the smaller and inconsequential things in life, Sherlock was irresistibly reminded of a kitten imitating a lion.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes!" she screeched, grabbing too many paper towels from the dispenser and wiping her hands and face. " _How do I even put up with you?_ I could have…I could have…bumped my hands on the faucet or sink, I don't know!"

By now, Sherlock had managed to stand up straight but was wiping tears of mirth from his cheeks as his laughter calmed to giggles. "Oh, t-to have seen y-y-your face!" he managed to stutter through his giggles.

Her heart no longer racing from the shock, Molly's lips pursed and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, such a shame," she replied sarcastically. Deciding that the only way to stop his laughter at her expense was to scare it out of him, she said, "Well, you'll have plenty of time to imagine what it looked like on the sofa – _all night long._ "

With that, she turned on her heel and made her way out of the morgue, leaving her husband in a frozen state of shock.

As she came to the door to the locker room, she heard him cry out, "Wait, Molly, wait!"

Molly allowed herself a smirk as she heard him run to catch up with her. She'd forgive him and have him in their bed tonight. Of course, she would! But not before she got to see the adorable sight of him playing the penitent puppy.


	22. June 22

Molly woke up to the most beautiful sound: Sherlock playing the violin. That explained why his side of the bed was empty. They had gone to bed together quite early, since they had just finished working on a case together (she had filled in for John after she'd accidently shut the morgue door in his face, leaving him with a bleeding-but-thankfully-not-broken nose). After the married couple had relaxed in a hot bath, they'd fallen asleep once their heads hit pillows.

The music was so lovely that Molly didn't even care that it was a few minutes after midnight. As she sat up and stretched a bit, Molly realized just why this was happening.

As of a few minutes ago, it was now her birthday.

Her heart overflowing with emotion, Molly got up from the bed and wrapped herself in one of Sherlock's dressing gowns. Walking softly, hoping it wouldn't stop the lovely music, Molly left the bedroom and made her way into the sitting room.

A fire was roaring in the fireplace, and it cast a soft, flickering light on her husband. He stood in the middle of the room, facing her, and playing his violin. He had a soft, almost shy, smile on his face. Returning his smile, Molly motioned for him to keep playing. Then, she moved to the sofa, tucked her legs to her chest, and listened in rapture to the music.

When the piece was over, Molly said, "Oh, that was so beautiful, Sherlock!"

"I'm glad that you think so, Molly," said Sherlock as he put the instrument away in his case. "Because it's you."

Molly's happy look was replaced with shock. "W-what? What do you mean that…that piece was me?"

Sherlock joined Molly on the sofa and gathered her is his arms, easily lifting her to rest across his lap. "I mean, Molly, that you are the complete inspiration and muse of this piece. The first movement of it came to me just before the Fall, and I kept it in my mind for a long time. It wasn't until after Sherrinford and we finally became a 'we' that I finally let myself flesh it out, make a full piece, and make a record of it. I wanted to make you a present of it, so I waited until your birthday. Sorry about waking you, but I couldn't wait any longer."

Tears filled Molly's eyes, and she cupped his face as she kissed him. "Oh, Sherlock…it's overwhelming that you did this for me…"

Sherlock held her closer to him as he replied, " _I'm your husband. It's my job._ "

Molly's heart fluttered at the word 'husband,' and hoped that it would never ceased to do so. "I just hope that you remember that I am not a gifted artist or musician like you are when your birthday comes. I could never give you a gift that beautiful."

Hearing the faint note of sadness in her tone, it was Sherlock's turn to take her face in his hands. "But you give me gifts more wonderful than anything I could compose every day, Molly. That you even allow me in your life at all is more than I deserve. And that you came into this world on this day – a number of years ago that you've already told me not to state aloud, though I don't see why since it is less than forty – is something that I wish to celebrate with you right now."

Molly giggled in surprise as Sherlock stood up, carrying her in his arms bridal style. "I love you, husband of mine," she murmured, kissing him more passionately.

Pressing their foreheads together after their kiss ended, Sherlock replied, "Many happy returns, my Molly."


	23. June 23

When Molly was asked to speak at a pathology conference in Edinburgh, Sherlock decided that there was no way that he wasn't going with her for two primary reasons:

One, three days and nights without his wife beside him was far too long a time in his brilliant mind.

Two, he wanted to be there when, at the conference, she would be introduced as Dr. Molly Holmes.

Overall, it had been a lovely weekend. Not only did Molly give a faultless and spectacular presentation, but Sherlock came across a minor string of robberies in the hotel they stayed in that kept him occupied. Throw in some sight-seeing and _very_ passionate nighttime activities, and the Holmes couple could say that they had a lovely time.

They arrived back home around suppertime, their luggage and some takeaway from their favorite fish-and-chips shop in their hands. Leaving their luggage in their bedroom (they could unpack in the morning), they ate their greasy and delicious dinner in comfortable silence. When they were finished, Sherlock gathered Molly to him for no other reason than to hold her.

"What shall we do now, Mrs. Holmes?" he asked, his voice deep with tenderness and fatigue. "It's a bit early for turning in."

Molly rested her head on his shoulder and caressed his neck. She was quite tired, too. "Hmm…" she said, savoring the smell of him. " _Can we just watch a movie and fall asleep on the sofa?_ "

"Can I choose the movie?"

Molly laughed. "Be my guest."

* * *

An hour later found the married couple curled up together on the sofa and lightly dozing, while the first _Pirates of the Caribbean_ movie played on the telly.


	24. June 24

Once a month, for a period of approximately three days, Molly would become…well, quite un-Molly-like. This was the best description that Sherlock could come up with that Molly wouldn't be offended or hurt by. And, to be fair to his wonderful wife, she _did_ try to behave as if nothing were amiss during those times. However, if Sherlock were to do anything that was "not good" on any level, she could certainly be…well… _snappish_.

However, Sherlock would take a period of time (no pun intended) like that any day over the harsher ones, where she would have a bit more physical pain than normal. This month was one such period like that.

Coming home from a case, Sherlock heard a low groan coming from the bedroom. He rapidly removed his coat, scarf and shoes before rushing to the room. But once he opened the door, he made sure that he moved at an easy pace towards the bed.

Molly lay curled up on her side of the bed, her fetal position tense and a hot water bottle pressed to her lower belly.

Sherlock knew that he needed to tread carefully, both with his words and actions. So, walking up to the edge of the bed that allowed them to be face-to-face, Sherlock asked in a low voice, "What can I do to help you, Molly? _I can't stand seeing you like this._ "

She looked up at him, and her wince faded into a small smile, which relieved Sherlock to no end. "I took some medicine just a few minutes ago, so it should kick in soon. So, right now, a cup of tea would be lovely. You sharing one with me and telling me all about this latest case would be a bonus to take my mind off these cramps."

Smiling, Sherlock bent down to kiss her forehead. "It would be my pleasure."

* * *

Sometime later found the two of them sitting up in bed together, enjoying a hot cup of tea. Just as she had predicted, the medicine was now kicking in and Molly was feeling much better. When she had finished her cup, she carefully placed it on the bedside table and spoke in a careful voice: "Sherlock…I've been thinking about something…"

Sensing from her tone that this was an important and serious topic, Sherlock set aside his own cup on his bedside table and turned to face her. "Tell me, Molly."

She bit her lip, and took her hand in his. "You've mentioned more than once…when you wanted to propose, when you showed me the house that Mycroft gave us…that you would like to start a family."

His heart beginning to beat a little faster, but careful not to let his facial expression change, Sherlock said, "Yes, I do. And that hasn't changed, Molly."

Molly nodded, her shoulders relaxing a bit. "Well…you know that I've been on birth control since we started our romantic relationship, and it hasn't failed in its job. But…I've been thinking that…I'd like to stop using it and see what happens…if you agree, that is."

His heart filling with warm love, Sherlock smiled at Molly, lifted her hand that he was holding, and kissed it. "Yes, Molly. Let's make our family."

Beaming, Molly rested her head on his shoulder and laced their fingers together.


	25. June 25

Before moving in with Sherlock, John had warned her of many things (understandably). One of those things was that Sherlock had little to no tolerance for any television programs (especially crime dramas). In fact, the only type of television program that Sherlock appeared to show any interest in were what Americans would call "trash TV."

Upon moving in together, Molly and Sherlock had come to a compromise about television watching: neither would complain of or try to prevent the other watching what they wanted, and were more than welcome to join them in watching if they kept to that simple rule.

Over time, each learned to tolerate, even sometimes enjoy, their partner's taste in television. Sherlock wouldn't complain – and pretend not to get engrossed – in Molly's favorite crime and period dramas. And Molly thought that the trashy reality TV programs that Sherlock got so worked up over were just plain hilarious.

One bitterly cold evening, they were snuggled under blankets and around each other on the sofa, watching one of Sherlock's programs. It was a type of "The Bachelor" program, where each female contestant was willing to do _anything_ to the eager man and each other in order to win the prize. It was at the end, when one of the girls would be eliminated.

"Siobhan, hands down," said Molly with certainty. "She double-crossed one too many of her roommates this time."

Sherlock snorted. "Heather is a far more likely candidate. Compared to how often Siobhan has kept Luke happy, Heather is practically a nun."

"I agree. But Siobhan is coming on _way_ too strongly, and monopolizing most of his time. Luke doesn't just have her, he's got a whole house full of candidates. You think he wants to settle for just one right now?"

"Of course not, but he's certainly not going to keep around the one not putting too much of an effort to get into his bed."

Their bickering ceased when the host opened the envelope and, after a dramatic seven-second pause, read out the name: "Siobhan."

" _Yes!_ " Molly screeched triumphantly, sitting up and sticking her fists in the air.

Sherlock reverted to his pouting pose. "I didn't know that you had become so attached to Heather."

"I haven't," replied Molly, and then shot him a sweet smile. " _I just like proving you wrong._ "

Sherlock looked at her with narrowed eyes, and then turned off the telly as a wicked smirk lit up his face. "Oh, I can think of several things that you not only like more than that, but can make you _scream._ "

"Oh, really?" Molly replied, even as her cheeks flushed and her body buzzed with eager anticipation. "Prove it."

Thankfully, Sherlock didn't need to move them off the couch to prove it. And the fact that he proved it four times that night came down to his natural inclination to be thorough.


	26. June 26

One winter's night, Molly went to bed before Sherlock. This happened occasionally, if he was working on a case and she'd had a long day at work. He would pull away from his task and kiss her goodnight before she retreated to the bedroom. He'd then redouble his efforts into wrapping up what he was working on so that he could join her in bed sooner rather than later.

This current case was a particularly tricky one. The criminals had already narrowly escaped him and Scotland Yard, so narrowly that Sherlock had gotten cut by a knife. He'd come to blows with one of them, and his opponent had wielded a knife. Sherlock's forearm got a shallow slash as he defended himself, which had given his attacker enough time to make a run for it.

Rolling up his sleeve, and looking at the healing, stitched-up cut about six inches long, Sherlock vowed that they would _not_ get away again.

After becoming absorbed in his plan of action tacked up on the sitting room wall, his concentration was broken some time later by a sound coming from the bedroom. It sounded like Molly, and it wasn't a good sound. It sounded like a cry, even a scream.

Dropping whatever papers that he had in his hand, Sherlock ran to the bedroom. Opening the door, he saw Molly in the dim light of the room, sitting up straight in bed with a truly scared look on her face. He rushed to the bed and crawled onto the mattress, so that he straddled her lap and facing her fully.

Cupping her face, Sherlock firmly said her name to bring her attention back to reality. Thankfully, she heard him, but then her face crumpled into sobs. Sherlock held her to him while she cried. When her sobs calmed against his now-damp chest, Sherlock said as soothingly as he could: " _You had a nightmare. Tell me what it was about so I can fix it._ "

Taking a shuddering breath, Molly managed to describe the vague details that she could remember: cold, a knife, his pale body, so much blood…

Sherlock shut his eyes. Why should he not have anticipated something like this? He remembered the stricken look on Molly's face when he told her what had happened, but he'd thought that the fact that it hadn't at all been a serious injury would placate her fears. Apparently not.

Lying them down beneath the covers, Sherlock held her closely to him and apologized for scaring her.

Molly shook her head against his chest. "It wasn't your fault, and I know that. And I know that you've had worse in the past." Her fingers pressed the place on his chest that bore the scar of Mary's bullet. "I suppose…the thought of a knife…" She shuddered. "Knives have always scared me more than guns."

Sherlock nodded. But Molly wasn't finished yet.

"Also…I suppose the fact that we've come so far, become so close, and hopes for the future…makes the thought of losing you now _so_ much more terrifying."

Sherlock again cupped her face and brought it up so he could look at her. "I promise you, Molly, both with this case and all future ones: I will be as careful as I can be and make sure to come home to you. I know that I have a history of being reckless in order to solve a case, often at my own expense, but no more. Then, I thought that my work was my reason for living. Now, I know that's not true. You are, Molly. Trust in that, please."

Molly kissed him and held him tightly. "I do, Sherlock. Could you stay with me just until I fall back asleep? I know you're still working."

"Of course," said Sherlock, already knowing that he wouldn't leave his wife until she woke up the next morning. This case could wait a few hours; unlike the woman he held in his arms, it wasn't his top priority.


	27. June 27

"Why are you sitting over there?"

Molly was curled up in Sherlock's chair, reading a Stephen King novel. Sherlock was laid out on the sofa, in his usual "mind palace" pose.

Surprised, Molly responded, "I didn't want to disturb you, Sherlock. I know better than to bother you when you're in your mind palace and you've just started a case."

"But you sometimes join me, and that helps me a great deal."

Molly smiled gently at him. "I do that when I see you're having a tough time in there. Your brow creases, you frown slightly, and, if it's really tough, your foot will start rapidly tapping against the arm of the sofa. You haven't been doing any of that."

Sherlock looked impressed for a moment, and then he looked guilty, and then he tried to cover shyness with nonchalance. "Well…I wouldn't object if you joined me now."

Molly giggled. "Just look at us! _We've become the clingy couple that you used to hate_."

Sherlock scowled and crossed his arms. "No, it's not _that_ , it's just…it's just…"

Beginning to sense that there was something more serious going on in his mind, Molly marked her place in the novel, got up from his chair, and walked to the sofa. He opened his arms and tucked her snugly against his side. He said nothing, so Molly thought of possibilities. It didn't take her long to figure out the most obvious solution – and berate herself for not thinking of it sooner.

"You're still thinking about your visit yesterday, aren't you?"

Her husband nodded. Sherlock visited Euros at Sherrinford every fortnight – Mycroft arranged a special helicopter to take him there and back – and his visit yesterday was one that he had made with his parents and brother. Molly never accompanied him on these trips, and had never tried to or wanted to; the most prominent reason was that Sherlock never wanted Molly to see that place or his sister, and Molly didn't want that either – they never forgot what she was and had done and would do if she were ever free.

After these visits, Sherlock would be melancholy for a while (how long depended on the nature of the visit, and whether or not he'd been alone). Molly would be there for him completely, being and doing whatever he needed from her. Sometimes he would talk about it, and sometimes he wouldn't. Thankfully, thanks to Molly, he would never stay in that state for long.

This time, Sherlock spoke about it: "My mother broke down crying after we left. After Mycroft and I had told her that Euros would most likely never speak again. I can only hope that she comes to understand…that it would be for the best if she didn't."

Molly nodded, for she agreed with that. Euros still only communicated through violin to her brother. Molly asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

Sherlock held her more tightly to him. "You could give my mother a call later, and maybe organize a shopping trip or a girls' outing. After all, you're her daughter, too, and she's so happy about that, Molly. But now…I'd just like to hold you for a while…"

"Of course," murmured Molly, snuggling against him and kissing his neck.

Sherlock was already feeling better. As tragic and horrific as certain events of the past were, both distant and recent, he now knew that he had much to be happy about now and in the future thanks to his beloved Molly.


	28. June 28

One bitterly cold November weekend, Sherlock and John were called away on a murder case in Kent, and they ended up staying there overnight. When Sherlock came home, he was more than eager to see his wife and be _properly_ warm.

"I'm back, Molly!" he called after shutting the door behind him. No immediately response. Sherlock's brow furrowed. When he'd texted when he'd be back, she assured him that she'd be home. And she always greeted him at the door with an embrace. But not this time.

"Molly?" he called, as he stripped off his winter things and his shoes. Stepping further into the flat, he saw that the bathroom door was shut. Somewhat relieved to have an explanation as to why she hadn't greeted him in her usual way, Sherlock went to the closed door. Knocking on it gently, he said, "I'm home, Molly."

But then his alarm grew when he heard something through the door: a shuddering sob and Molly's shaking voice responding, "Oh, hi, Sherlock!"

His worrying rising rapidly, Sherlock knocked more urgently on the door. "Molly, please let me in. _Don't shut me out._ I can tell that something is wrong."

"I'm fine, Sherlock, nothing is wrong." She sniffed.

"Molly –"

"At least, nothing serious. Just an annoyance, really." He heard her moving around a bit in the bathroom. "I just wish to God that it was your birthday today!"

Sherlock hadn't been expecting that at all, and it quite confused him. But he didn't have long to wonder. In the next moment, the bathroom door opened and there stood Molly. Her eyes were red, but her expression was radiant. She held out her hand to him, and Sherlock looked down.

In her hand, she held three positive pregnancy tests.

Sherlock grabbed them, looked at them, and then looked at his wife's beaming face. The biggest smile that he had ever smiled broke across his face. He dropped the three plastic sticks and gently gathered her to him. She kissed his cheeks when his own tears began to fall.

"Oh, Molly…" was all he could say in his happiness. Molly couldn't say anything in her own, just smile and kiss him.

Sherlock then gently lifted her up, making her giggle, and took her to the bedroom. He got the warmth that he had craved as he made love to the future mother of his child as tenderly and lovingly as he could.


	29. June 29

The Watsons were frequent visitors to 221B, as was only natural. This particular day in early spring, John drove himself and his daughter to Baker Street. When he arrived, Mrs. Hudson immediately took Rosie from him and began to coo over her. The little one was more of a toddler than a baby now; she had a waddle-like walk, and she loved to chat in a language which was sometimes understandable and sometimes not. But always did she loved to be fussed over by her godparents.

Chuckling to himself, John watch the two of them go into Mrs. Hudson's flat – knowing that the older lady would bring Rosie up in a few minutes – and walked up to 221B. He was quite eager to see his best mate and his wife, after the day they'd had.

He found the expectant couple on the sofa. Molly lay across it, propped up by pillows, and her hands on her growing belly. She seemed to get lovelier the further along her pregnancy got, and John didn't need to wonder why that was. Sherlock sat on the other end of the sofa, her feet in his lap; he was massaging them.

At this sight, John couldn't help but chuckle. "Just when I think I've seen everything…"

" _He's pampering me, let him be_ ," said Molly, giving her husband a smile.

Sherlock smiled back before he gently placed his feet off his lap, took something from the coffee table, and went to John. Beaming, he said, "I assume this is the reason for your visit this afternoon, John."

What he handed John was a photograph, a very specific kind of photograph, the kind that someone gets after having an ultrasound. John smiled at the image of the six-month-old fetus seemingly waving for the camera. "And I assume by your happy moods that all looks well and healthy for the both of you?"

Molly nodded. "All is as it should be. We found out the sex, too." She looked to Sherlock, knowing that he wanted to be the one to tell John.

Sherlock smiled at his best mate. "Rosie will be very pleased," he hinted.

John clapped the back of Sherlock's neck – a very rare gesture of affection – and exclaimed, "A girl? Fantastic, mate! Rosie _will_ be thrilled! And now I know what to do with all of her baby clothes that I still have stored!"

Mrs. Hudson had arrived with Rosie while John was talking, and she squealed with delight. Sherlock kissed both of her cheeks and then spun a giggling Rosie around the room in celebration. Molly remained on the sofa, smiling peacefully and rubbing her tummy. The little one inside of her began to kick, as if rejoicing with them, happy in the knowledge of how beloved she already was.


	30. June 30

Normally, Sherlock _loathed_ shopping. When he and John lived together, he would _always_ force John to do it. After Molly had moved in, Sherlock had compromised somewhat. She knew that he loathed the errand while she had never minded it, so she didn't mind doing it most of the time. However, if she were having a bad day or Sherlock needed to make something up to her, he would gladly go do the necessary shopping should there be any.

On this gorgeous summer day, Sherlock didn't need to be asked twice – though he did do it as quickly as possible. He also put the groceries away as quickly – but also as quietly – as possible. Once he was finished, he tiptoed to the bedroom, for he knew that's where whom he loved most in the world would be.

Opening the door, Sherlock smiled, for he was right. Molly lay on her side of the bed, propped up by pillows. On her chest, in a short-sleeved and soft yellow onesie, lay their six-week-old daughter, Alethea Johanna. Molly, her eyes half-open as she caressed her daughter, looked at Sherlock and smiled. Smiling back, Sherlock carefully climbed onto the bed beside them and kissed his wife.

"I got everything on the list, and it's all put away," he whispered softly.

"Thank you, Sherlock, I appreciate it," she responded in an equally soft whisper.

"How are my girls?"

"This warm weather is making us drowsy," said Molly, stroking their daughter's rosy cheek with her finger. Alethea was, indeed, fast asleep.

Sherlock, mirroring his wife's action, stroked Molly's own rosy cheek. " _You nap, I'll stay awake._ It's my turn to hold her, anyway."

Molly chuckled, and together they carefully transferred their daughter from Molly's chest to Sherlock's chest. The little one didn't wake, and naturally snuggled over her daddy's steady heartbeat.

"I'll make no guarantees about falling completely asleep," said Molly, turning on her side to face them. "I love watching the two of you together."

Sherlock smiled modestly and kissed Alethea's head, already covered with wispy dark hair that would one day curl like her father's.

* * *

Time passed in the warm haze of the afternoon between the family of three, the only sounds being their steady breathing. Then, Alethea began to stir awake, wiggling on her father's chest. Eagerly but gently, Sherlock drew up his knees and brought Alethea to rest her back against his thighs in his secure hold, so they faced each other. Her large brown eyes - _Thank God she got her mother's lovely eyes -_ blinked, then opened, focused on, and recognized her daddy.

And then, his daughter smiled.

Smiling himself as his eyes filled with tears, Sherlock leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Hello, my little bee," he murmured.

He then felt Molly's soft fingers caress his neck, and he turned to look at her. She too was smiling, and was looking at him with all of her love in her eyes.

And Sherlock Holmes knew, as both of his girls smiled at him with love, that there could be no greater happiness than this.

* * *

 **A/N:** _Anyone who has read my stories knows this little Sherlolly baby quite well by now! It seems I adore her so much that I must bring her into every universe I create somehow. And why not? I adore her!_

 _Well, that's that for this monthly collection of drabbles! I really hope that you enjoyed them as much as I enjoyed writing them. After Series 4, and writing a more serious story about it, I really needed to put myself on a regiment of good Sherlolly fluff. Please review, and I'll see you all next time!_


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